She Dreams in Colour, She Dreams in Red
by njcarter89
Summary: Lisbon is dating a new guy, who she is not quite in love with. What are her real motives behind this loveless relationship? * I will be updating at odd times so I am sorry for such a late update, high school's hard.
1. Chapter 1

I HAVE COME BACK TO LIFE! Haha, just kidding, more like from studying endlessly for high school courses.

Anyways: Here we go, first piece in like what, forever?

Ten points to Gryffindor for whomever guesses the song this title is based of of. No Google! Stick it into the review box and you will get... dah danha dah... nothing. But the joy of knowing great music is an added bonus!

Details: Lisbon begins to date a new man she really isn't in love with. What really are her motives behind this loveless relationship.

Rating: T for mentions of sex, and other related stuff.

Pairings: Eventual Jane/Lisbon.

Disclaimer: Sadly, not mine...

{}THE MENTALIST{}

She could feel the sweat trickle down the back of her neck, as the humidity of the bedroom closed around her neck like a pair of hands. Suddenly, she couldn't breathe any longer, and tossed away the messy sheets, allowing her naked body to become exposed to rest of the room. She quickly grabbed a t-shirt that hung over the barely used, beige coloured chair, and padded over to the windowsill. Swiftly undoing the latch, she pushed the frame up as far as it could go, and sighed as the cool night air tickled her face and danced through her hair. The toilet flushed in the bathroom adjacent to her own bedroom, and she dashed back into bed. Slipping the t-shirt back over her head, she rearranged the blanket around her, turning her back towards her visitor. She shut her eyes as a light peeped in from the hallway. She attempted to keep her breathing even, and slow her quickened heart; keeping up her façade.

She could almost see his elated grin, as he plopped himself down next to her. She prayed that he wouldn't wake her, as two wet arms coiled their way across her bare waist. She faked a sigh of contentment, and leaned into his well muscled chest. She stared at the wall facing her, as the moments slunk past.

"Did I wake you?" He whispered, his lips kissing her neck. She should've known she couldn't fool him. It was his job after all, to sniff out liars.

She rolled around to face him, meeting the pair of electric blue eyes that sunk deep into their lids. A smile graced his pink lips. She smiled back.

"No, I couldn't sleep. Too hot." She said, closing her eyes once more.

"Ah, I'm sorry." He said back, his voice as delicate as a cloud. "Should I let you sleep?"

She saw an opportunity, and took it. "Well, I mean, I do have a big day tomorrow. Seeing dead guys and all."

He chuckled, and kissed her forehead. "I take your sarcasm as a yes."

She looked at him seriously. "It's not that…" She began, but was cut off by a finger to her lips.

"It's quite alright. I understand. My big, bad, crime-fighting Teresa needs her rest." He laughed again, quietly musical like windchimes.

She joined in this time, settling herself against him, preparing for yet another sleepless night.

"Goodnight, Teresa." He whispered, stroking her chocolate brown locks sweetly.

"Good night, Percy." She said, as enthusiastically as she could muster.

{}THE MENTALIST{}

In the morning, she awoke to find her bed empty, and her alarm blaring a song about a misshapen relationship. She didn't even bother noticing the cruel irony, as she cursed herself for sleeping through the alarm. She made a mad dash for the bathroom, deciding against it as the clock on the wall read half past eight. She ran a brush through her tangly mass of bed head, and dabbed on some of her favourite cinnimon perfume for good measure, and to get rid of the scent of love-making. She hurried back into her room, throwing the comforter back onto the bed as she made her way to her teeny closet. A note, Scotch-taped to the door was waiting for her.

It read, "Sleeping Beauty finally awakes! When I left, you were still fast asleep, and I didn't have the heart to wake you. You looked so peaceful, and I know you haven't been sleeping well lately, and it's been (partially) my fault. Drinks later? –P "

She breathed in and out a couple of time, attempting to clear her head. She damned him for being so charming and irresistible, and compelling her to say yes. She made a quick mental note to call him later in reply.

Focusing on the task at hand, the opened the door, revealing stacks of shirts and pants, neatly stacked in rows. She grabbed the first blouse and slacks she saw, dressing quickly. She fumbled for her keys, gun, and badge, conveniently located on her bedside table, as she finished five out of the ten buttons on her sky blue shirt. She ignored the rest, sprinting out the door, and ignoring the puzzled looks of her neighbors as she fired up the engine on her black SUV.

Her cell-phone buzzed against the wheel as she directed the vehicle towards her place of business.

"Lisbon." She answered promptly, clearing her throat.

"Hey boss." Her red-haired junior agent replied. "I know that you probably had something else going on, but I just wanted to let you know that the local PD found a body near Lake Christopher, and called us to investigate it. We're down there now."

"Alright, I'll meet you there in ten. Thanks VanPelt." She said, making a right turn on the road.

"Your welcome, boss. See you soon." Came the nice response, as the phone clicked off.

Lisbon reached for the bottle of Advil in the drink holder to sooth her throbbing head. She shook a few into her hand, and popped them into her mouth, washing them down with day-old water as she waited for the light to turn green. She sighed, it was going to be a long day.

{}THE MENTALIST{}

She slammed the car door, and hit the lock button on the keypad as she entered the crime scene. Snapping on a pair of fresh latex gloves , she pulled the yellow tape over her head, earning her several 'Good Mornings' from eager cops. She smiled back politely, wondering why they seemed to be ogling more than usual, and headed for the target of the tarp covered body.

She exchanged brief hellos with her colleagues, and crouched down, deftly pulling the blue piece of fabric back, examining the form beneath it. A lovely smashed in, water logged, bloodied and bruised face met her eyes. The victim appeared to be a Caucasian male, mid to late thirties, with light blue eyes staring blankly into the sky above. Out of reverence, she leaned over and shut them, not wanting to look into their poor corneas any longer.

"Ah, sir. Yes you over there." Boomed an overly confident voice from the left. A man in a three piece suit appeared, gesturing for a nearby agent to get a pad of paper out. "Can you record this date? Uh, I think it's time to alert the media, because this is the first time St. Teresa has been late to work." He called, making a mock blowhorn with his hands. He laughed jubilantly. "How about a round of applause?" He said gleefully clapping his hands together repetitively. A few smart-ass cops joined in, but quickly stopped, noticing her icy stare.

She silenced him with a death glare. "Shut-up." Came her smart reply.

"Meh. So what were you doing this mornign?" He asked, planting his hands on his knees as he loomed over her. She couldn't help but be drawn to the proximity of their bodies; she could almost reach out and touch his cheek. She ignored the thoughts, and focused on her anger.

"That is none of your business." She retorted, standing up.

"Eh, well that's debatable. But let's not get into that." He said, straightening back up. "I am going to guess that you were having sex. Or did last night. Your hair is a wreck, you don't smell like cinnamon, but some men's cheap cologne. Oh, and I can see your bra. Midnight blue, is that a matching set?" He replied, a hint of a smirk covering his lips, as his fingers brushed open her shirt, revealing the undergarments. "Or are you just trying to impress me?" He winked.

Her cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. A couple of bystanders chuckled, and others bit back smiles.

"You son of a bitch." She mumbled, fiddling with the buttons on her shirt. She couldn't manage to do the final three, and huffed in frustration.

"Here, allow me. Clearly my fantastic detective skills have clouded your brain, and caused your inability to complete ordinary functions." Long and nimble finger gently brushed against her chest as he fastened the remaining few. He cupped her chin, and forced her to look at him. She blushed furiously again, avoiding his gaze. She tried to push him away, failing miserably.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, my dear Lisbon. It is a perfectly natural thing to do." He said bluntly. However, he leaned in and whispered, "But you should probably let him know that you don't actually like him."

Her jaw dropped, and she watched as he sauntered away, her anger mounting. Her mind was spinning, but the clearest thought in her head, was how he couldn't be more right.

{}THE MENTALIST{}

Alright, Good, Great? Just let me know if I should continue...


	2. Chapter 2

Details: Lisbon begins to date a new man she really isn't in love with. What really are her motives behind this loveless relationship?

Rating: T for mentions of sex, and other related stuff.

Pairings: Eventual Jane/Lisbon.

Disclaimer: Sadly, not mine...

Sorry for the long time it took me to update, school is hard….. I might not get another up for a while… so I will try to make this a longer update!

{}THE MENTALIST{}

He folds his hands neatly over his vest-clad chest as he settles down onto the couch in his bosses' office. The ceiling provides little distraction from the path his thoughts were taking. He shut his eyes and takes a deep breath, forcing himself not to think about anything except rest. He concentrated on his breathing for a few moments, empty minded, and finally believes that he might be able to get some sleep. But a certain green-eyed beauty sashays back into his head, and his eyes pop back open. He sits up, turning to look at Lisbon's empty desk. She had departed from the office early, perhaps off to a date with her "boyfriend" whose name she hadn't mentioned. He sighed in frustration. Using his arms, he pushes himself off the couch, and wanders over to the mahogany table, mentally determining which drawer she would keep the bottle of expensive old Scotch Walter Mashburn had given her in. His finger nimbly slid open the third one from the top, and grabbed the bottle and an empty glass, shutting it with his foot. He balances the cup on his knee as he unscrews the cap and poured himself three fingers worth. He sets the bottle on the floor next to him, and takes a huge swig, emptying the glass in a single gulp and coughing as it scorches his throat on the way down. He lays himself back down, his mind buzzing from the strong alcohol he had just downed. He picks the bottle and refills the cup, tapping a finger against the side absentmindedly.

He sighs, as his thoughts wander back to the inevitable. Lisbon, his lovely Teresa, was dating another man, one she did not even like no less. He wonders why she put herself through this kind of struggle, stuck in a loveless relationship where she was simply too sweet not to break it off. He lifted the glass once more, and tossed it back, the burning sensation returning. He clucks his tongue and forces it to stay down.

He lazily rolls up the sleeves of his blue dress shirt, and undoes the buttons on his navy vest, slipping it off and throwing it behind him. He situates his hands behind his head, and shuts his eyes, attempting once again to be calm. He tries to sleep once more, but he couldn't rid his mind of the beautiful Teresa Lisbon, the fair maiden whom had been rescued by a different night in shining armor.

She wouldn't have chosen him anyways, so what was the point. He was broken, shattered into a million itty-bitty pieces, with absolutely no hope of being fixable. The last woman to try to mend him had been the gorgeous Sophie Miller, but even she didn't have enough band-aids and Masking Tape to even begin to put the pieces back together.

He was far too unstable and potentially dangerous to Teresa. If Red John appeared once more, he was almost absolutely sure that he would choose vengeance over her. He would wind himself up in 8 by 8 cell with blood still staining his hands, and would never see the light of day again until they brought him out on a tarp-covered gurney, or for the lethal injection. It just wouldn't be fair to her, and Jane couldn't think of a plausible situation that wouldn't end in heartbreak for either party involved. It simply wasn't right.

He laughs bitterly at himself for no apparent reason. Lisbon was far better off with this new chum than with a bastard like him. He would hurt her. He would push her away.

But he can't help but wonder what a life with her would be like. Would there be intimate dinners in tiny Italian restaurants on the street corner while he attempted to woo her with his mind games? Would he finally get her to open up, even the slightest bit, and reveal more about her hidden past over Chicken Parma and a glass of Chardonnay? Would there be sweet, stolen kisses in empty interrogation rooms as time passed, and they became better acquainted? Would there be blissful nights of lovemaking, and mornings spent in one wrapped in one another's arms, as the sun peeps in and the air still smells like sweat and passion? Would he spend his free time passing by jewelry shops, causally searching for the right ring to correspond with those 4 words looped into a question he so desperately wanted to ask her? Would there be the possibility of a house full of little blonde haired and green eyed children, laughing and playing as their parents tried to catch them during a game of tag? Would they steal away to their bedroom after the babies had been put to sleep, to meet in a fiery embrace, in hopes of gaining just one more little girl or boy? This trail of thoughts almost brought Jane to tears, as he imagined a little girl who had his hair, but Lisbon's brilliant emerald eyes. He perished the thoughts, pouring himself another glass of Scotch, mumbling curses at himself as he wallowed in self pity. What would his wife say to him right now? What would she tell him if she was here?

"Patrick, put the godforsaken bottle down, and get off your lazy ass. You are going to go after this woman, do you understand? How do you think you caught me, huh? You didn't me just by sitting on your behind, and drinking Scotch like some rich-man's trust fund baby. Come on, honey, if she's anything like me, she's not going to make it any easier for you to get her to like you. If you love her that much, what are you still doing here? Go find her, save her from this guy!" He imagined her saying, as if she was sitting on the couch beside him . Strong and to the point, she told him what he needed to hear, just like Lisbon. He laughed again, feeling tears cloud his eyes.

"You always know just what to say, Ang." He says, slurring his words, and giggling childishly.

He rose from the couch again and stumbled to the door. With his hand secured firmly on the door, he tried to make the room stop spinning. Once the ceiling and the floor returned to where they were supposed to be, he rushed out the door and to his car. He knew it was illegal to drive under the influence, but he was going to see a cop, right?

{}THE MENTALIST{}

In the dim lighting of the smoky bar, Lisbon squints to make out the drink menu. She scans the list to find something she can lose herself in, something strong enough to make this night bearable. She hardly ever drinks, but tonight, she's going all out. She waves the bartender over to place her order, a glass of straight-up whisky and a pint of Samuel Adams beer.

She peers around the bar once more, trying in vain to find Percy over the packed room. The tall men standing in front of her don't make it much easier. She screams a couple 'excuse me's' and one 'move your big ass before I shoot you' but nothing seems to get through to these idiots. They just smile at her, and raise their glasses. She gives them a forced smile, and flashes her badge and gun. The two men turn away quickly. She pulls her cellphone from her pocket, and glances at the display. It's getting late and he still hasn't showed up. She huffs angrily, tempted to ditch early.

A tuft of curly blonde hair suddenly appears near the doorway. She sees it walk a few feet towards her and then stop. She hurries towards it.

She reaches out an arm, "Percy, I'm glad you could finally make it." She says, with as much warmth as she could muster. But when she finally sees him, she is met with someone entirely different.

"Jane? What the hell are you doing here?" She asks, removing her hand quickly, and wiping the water off on her pants. He's clearly drenched from the rain.

"Lisbon." He slurs, his face breaking into one of his huge grins that lights his entire face up. His blond hair is disheveled, and dripping from the water outside. He shivers and shakes like a wet dog.

"What are you doing here?" She asks again, raising an eyebrow as he sways from side to side.

"Well…." he says, and laughs once. "I wanted to tell you something… but now I can't remember what it is…" He says, fiddling with his shirt sleeve. It is now that Lisbon notices that he's not wearing his vest.

He is suddenly jostled from behind, and falls into Lisbon. Steadying him with an arm around his waist, she smells the bitter scent of alcohol on his breath."Jane, did you find my bottle of Scotch?"

"Angela told me to." He mumbles, his eyes distant. He refuses to meet her eyes.

She feels her throat tighten at the mention of his deceased wife.

"She did, did she now?" She says, grabbing his arm before he could protest. She practically drags him to a booth in the back corner of the bar. She grips his hand tightly to keep him from tripping.

She sits him down. "Stay here, I will be right back." She says icily.

She briskly walks up to the bar once more. "A glass of water please, and a couple of napkins." She says.

The bartender turns to face her, "Do you still want your other order?" He asks, placing the drinks in front of her.

She wrinkles her nose, and sighes heavily. "No, just keep 'em."

The guy fills up a glass, and hands her a pile of white napkins, with the bar's logo printed on the front. She thanks him and walks back to the table.

Jane is laughing to himself as he makes a pile of salt on the table.

"Jane, stop it." She says, sternly over the music pulsing through the speakers.

He obeys, sweeping the salt to the floor, and into her socks and shoes.

"Great, thank you." She replies, and hoists herself into the seat across from him. She adds some Tabasco sauce, salt, pepper, and a couple of lemons from a black dish on the table. She uses a tooth pick to stir it around a couple of times. She places the disgusting liquid in front of him. He shoots her a withering glance, and regards the cup with disdain.

"Drink it, try to sober up." She commands, inching the glass towards him.

He groans, but nevertheless obeys her. He takes a large gulp, and sprints off the to bathroom to vomit. She watches him go, glad she remembered the old technique she used to use to make her father less drunk.

She tries to call Percy while he is gone, but only receives his answering machine. She curses, and puts the phone back in her pocket. She sees Jane approaching, and removes the glass from his spot.

"Well, that was, enlightening. I didn't even know I had salmon for lunch today." He says, his voice returning to normal. There's a huge wet spot on the front of his chest.

She rolls her eyes but says nothing to him. Silence settles over them like a blanket, each staring in a different direction.

"So where's your boyfriend?" He asks, finally .

"He's not my boyfriend." She snaps, immediately regretting the harshness of her tone.

"Fine. Where's the guy you're sleeping with?" He asks, impatiently, fixing a steely gaze on her.

"He's not here, but he was supposed to be here an hour ago." She says, and checks her cellphone once more.

Jane mumbles something inaudible, and traces a pattern through the remaining salt on the table.

"Does this 'non-boyfriend' have a name?" He asks. He waves at the bartender to bring him a drink.

"You don't need anything else. You are already going to have a huge hangover in the morning." She says, waving the fellow away.

She pauses a moment, debating whether or not to tell him about Percy. She sighs and replies "Yes, his name is Percy."

"Will I get to meet him?" He says, still staring her down.

She returns glance with a glare of her own. "Why do you want to?"

He shrugs, "To make sure he is suitable for the almighty Saint Teresa." She flinches at the use of her first name.

"Maybe, if he ever shows up." She murmurs, searching the bar once more.

"What was that?" He asks, leaning forward.

She shakes her head. "Never mind. Now what was it you wanted to tell me?" She asks.

He leans back in his chair. If the lighting was better, Lisbon could almost bet that he was blushing. "It isn't important now." He states calmly, a hint of sadness to his tone.

Her heart melts a little at his expression. "Come on, it had to be important, because you drove all the way here to see me, while under the influence I might add." She cracks a smile.

He smiles back, "I thought that since you were a law enforcement officer, that sort of ameliorated the situation."

She laughs. "I could arrest you, you know." She teases.

Now it was his turn to laugh. Neither of them notices the blonde haired man approaching, with jealousy written all over his handsome face.

"Hey, Teresa." He says, warmly. Planting a kiss on her hair. "Who is this?" He asks, forcing himself not to glare at the man sitting across from Teresa.

She stifles a curse. "Um, Percy, this is Patrick Jane. He's a consultant to the CBI, and he works with me." She says, as calmly as possible.

Uh-Oh.

{}THE MENTALIST{}

Reviews are love 3


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